Paradise Lost Chapter 9: Crushed
by Denise Nicole
Summary: When a witch makes a small mistake, it affects more than she ever realized it could. ML. BtVS and DA Crossover. Don't let that scare you. March 23 to 31, 2001
1. Friday March 23, 2001

**Paradise Lost: Chapter 9 – Crushed**

_A/N: For those of you who are new to this story, stop at the end of this paragraph. This is a continuation of Paradise Lost, and Paradise Lost: Chapter 8, both of which are posted at If you try to read this chapter without having read the others, you will be confused and likely give up on this story. I try my best to write my chapters so they weave in and out with each other. Don't mess with my tapestry. Leave now, because there are spoilers shortly ahead. However, if you've been following this God-awful ginormous story, 1) bless your bleeding eyes and see an optometrist regularly and B) feel free to continue on._

_It's been a while, hasn't it? Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated. There's been a lot going on the last few years: graduating, moving, and starting a new job. In an odd twist of fate, some power in the universe decided that everything was unbalanced when Max and Logan were unceremoniously ripped from Seattle. To put everything back in balance, they decided they'd found a suitable, yet inferior, replacement. Me. The moonlight is just hitting the Cascades now as I write this author's note, and I think it's a rather apropos time to post. Many thanks to those of you who have sent me words of encouragement the past few years and welcome to those of you who are just joining us AFTER HAVING READ THE REST OF THE STORY FOR THE FIRST TIME…cough… I hope the wait has been worth it._

_Many thanks to Alaidh for betaing, and with helping to straighten out leaning characters. Max and Logan and anything DA belongs to Fox and James Cameron, Buffy and crew and anything BtVS belongs to Joss Wedon and others, and the shleck that's left over is mine. Any further attributions needed will be given with the posting of the last day of this chapter. As for spoilers…considering how much I've totally derailed this universe, anything is fair game at this point. I won't tell you more than that, because I'm not fond of giving obvious clues._

Buckle up, folks. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

* * *

_Friday March 23, 2001_

Dawn slid into her seat just as the bell rang for study hall. Mrs. Davis had lifted an eyebrow at her rushed entry, but said nothing. She usually didn't. Dawn slid a pen out of her purse, opened a small book, and began to write. There was something that just felt _good_ about keeping a journal again. It had been weeks – ever since she'd set her old journals on fire – and she hadn't realized how much she had missed writing. Today was an important anniversary of sorts and, aside from the usual thoughts about her own life that made their way into her journals, she felt it was worth some note.

_Max and Logan have been in Sunnydale for exactly six weeks as of today. One week ago, Logan found out that he and Max…well, Max…couldn't ever leave Sunnydale. Mom and snotbrain and I had a family meeting a few days ago when we found out about it, and decided that, since they've already been staying with us, they should keep staying with us. That way, they don't have to like live in a box under a bridge or something while they get their lives in order. I'm not sure what all they have to do, but I guess Logan's been making a list._

_Today, Xander and Logan and Max and Buffy are finishing up Logan's bedroom, and then he'll move out of the living room. Max has already moved to the basement, but she doesn't have much there. A bed, a small dresser, and a curtain that helps divide her from the rest of the basement. I don't get it. If I were her, I'd want walls at least, and paint, and pictures and stuff, but she's never around anymore anyway. She should be around today because she's helping out with the construction stuff, but she'll probably disappear again._

_I don't get it. I mean, I get that Max misses her friends and home and stuff, but from what she's told me, it's a wreck in that time anyway, and it's so much nicer here. Max won't have to worry anymore._

_Man, this sucks. I wish I were home helping them rather than sitting here at school the rest of the day._

* * *

Back at the Summers' household, most of the occupants wished they were anywhere else. The tension level was extraordinarily high in the house, as opposed to just a week or so prior. Xander, having taken time off from his construction job in favor of nontaxable pay, had spent the previous day reworking some ducts so that the garage would have heat and air conditioning with the rest of the house. He also added a few additions to the first floor bathroom to make it more accessible for Logan.

Currently, however, the task at hand was adding some fresh drywall to the garage. Once they finished with that, they could add some of the basic furniture he'd already managed to collect. Logan put down his hammer for a second, reaching for a bottle of water, the faint echo of Bling's voice in his head. A slight wave of sadness rushed over him as he realized the voice wasn't quite as clear as he'd remembered - a fading memory of the future.

He looked over at Max, who was swinging a hammer steadily, and strongly. She was so quiet. Beyond her soft words to him a few days ago, she barely spoke anymore. Not that she was ever around _to _speak to anyone. He knew that today's rare appearance was more due to Max pulling her own weight, rather than her desire to be among people. His only real worry, voiced only once in a moment of weakness, was that, one of these days, she would decide to leave…and wouldn't come back. He pushed the thought out of his mind, and reached for a few more nails.

The small group finished off the drywall rather quickly, and moved Logan's few things into the room. Anya, who had been watching the "show" while eating some popcorn, was disappointed when Xander put his shirt back on. He turned to Logan, and said, "I'll get some faux flooring in here for you soon, so you won't have to live with the concrete."

Logan shook the man's hand. "I appreciate the quick work, Xander."

"No prob." He quickly whispered in Anya's ear, and the two were off.

Buffy smiled at that pair's quick exit as she dusted the sparse thrift shop furniture in the room. Her smile faded when she saw Logan watch Max, who was looking around the room with a blank expression on her face. Max was completely emotionless. Logan, on the other hand, was…wistful.

Longing.

Before she could comment, although she didn't have a single clue what to say, Max snatched up her jacket that she had carelessly thrown over the mattress set. "Where are you going?" Buffy asked.

Max never slowed down.

Logan and Buffy looked at each other. Buffy faintly heard her mother in the kitchen ask the same question, and then heard the basement door slam. Logan sighed and looked at his hands in his lap. "I really can't blame her. She's lost so much, so many times. It's going to be really hard for her to adjust." He sighed again and looked at Buffy. "She'll get through this. She gets through everything," he said, feigning confidence.

Buffy also sighed. "I sure hope so, or Mom'll need to invest in central heat for the house."

Logan quietly let a sad laugh escape his lips, but it was without humor. He looked around at his new, slightly more permanent home. Four walls, and a closet. A bed, a used dresser and nightstand completed the new look. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Some small, snobbish part left in him couldn't really believe that this was what he had been reduced to, but he knew he was the one who'd chosen this.

Unlike Max.

* * *

Max stood in the basement, and regarded her surroundings. The basement really wasn't that bad, but just the thought of it made her skin crawl. Two months…two weeks…two days…two hours. It made no difference what the time span was, it all felt the same, like yesterday.

Like ten years ago.

Like eight years from now.

_Logan, I'm right back where I started. And I have to learn how to live _again_, this time in a perfect world in a perfect house with the perfect family._

She shook her head as the memory flashed. Her thoughts began to churn. _What the hell was I even thinking then? How could I even have been so naïve as to believe we could get out of this?_

_We._

Max exhaled slowly, and sat on her small cot, trying to massage out the permanent headache she had developed. _I've done this before, so many times I can barely count. Seattle…Zack was right. It was time to move on. Then maybe I wouldn't have gotten attached to it, the people. Settling here is just the same as any other new place I've gone. If all else fails, I move on again._

_It'd just be so much easier if I had Logan's help._

Her stomach turned. _I've been civil enough so far. I'm just not sure I can handle being friends again._

She stood up, her mind made up. _Screw it. Middle of the day or not, I'm going out._

She walked over to the washing machine, nimbly jumped onto it, and opened the small window above it. She easily slid her slight frame through it and outside.

* * *

Screw it. He decided he was going out, even though it was the middle of the day. He missed her, so badly he could feel it in his bones. She's been everywhere but near him, and it was really starting to get annoying. He _needed_ her. She needed him, too, although she didn't likely even realize it yet.

Spike pulled on his long black leather duster and flipped up the collar almost angrily. He would need its protection from the blazing sunlight. His small shrine, a dedication to imperfection, caught his eye and he couldn't help but be drawn over to it. Sketches of her graced the entire surface of the old mirrored bureau, on which he had no reflection to mar the collection. His every vision of her, from every angle, dating back to the first time he met her, late one night.

He picked up the head of a mannequin he had painstakingly assembled to be a feeble image of her. Feeble, but at least tangible. He slowly and gently ran a pale hand capped with black nails down the silky blonde hair.

"Buffy," he whispered into the dank dimness of his tomb. He slammed the head down onto the surface of the bureau and sharply turned away.

She needed him, as much as he needed her. He may very well have to kill her to prove it.

* * *

_Coming soon, Monday March 26, 2001 – December 17, 2006. ;)_


	2. Monday March 26, 2001

A/N: I've written plenty of these for all of the other parts of this story. You can refer back to those for spoilers and disclaimers.

* * *

_Monday March 26, 2001_

It was a beautiful Monday morning in Sunnydale. Logan was reading the newspaper, and drinking a cup of coffee preparing for his first day of work.

Joyce wandered into the kitchen and began to pour herself a cup of coffee. She turned and looked at him appraisingly in his more businesslike attire. "You sure clean up nice," she commented cheekily.

Logan couldn't help but laugh. "That makes me wonder what the hell I've been looking like since I got here." He quickly downed the last dregs of his coffee and wheeled across the kitchen for a refill. He looked at Joyce and smiled gratefully. "I don't know how much I can thank you for this."

She lifted a brow. "Everyone at the gallery has been talking about your ability to identify and classify artwork. You've got an excellent eye. Are you sure you won't come work for us? "

"Nah, that's more of a hobby that kept me from being completely ostracized by my blue-blood relatives. I'll stick with the semi-real job I found at the newspaper, thanks. You going in today?

She shook her head,. "A little later. I have the Fleethen showing this afternoon, so I thought I'd balance out my hours by being a Monday slug. You need a ride?"

Logan grinned and patted his tires. "Got my own, thanks." He folded his newspaper and put his mug in the dishwasher, barely casting another sidelong glance at the basement door before leaving.

* * *

"Buffy."

"Mmm."

"Buffy, wake up!"

"Mmmphm…no. G'way."

"Come on, you stupid butt-breath, get up!"

Buffy turned her head enough so she could open one bleary eye to glare at her sister.

Dawn gave her an exasperated stare. "Was it the stupid or butt-breath that got your attention?"

Buffy groaned and buried her head back into her pillow. "My _fist_ is going to get your attention if you don't get lost."

Dawn huffed and flopped herself on the end of Buffy's bed, ignoring her elder sister's slight squeal of disgust. "Come on. We've gotta figure out what to do."

Buffy rolled over, holding a hand up against the sunlight streaming in merrily through the bedroom windows. "What do _we_ gotta figure out about what?"

"Max and Logan."

The blonde peered at the brunette. "Are you high? I don't understand what the hell you're talking about."

Dawn put her hands across her chest. "They barely talked or looked at each other all weekend. When they did talk, it was all polite-like."

Buffy gasped and clutched a hand to her heart. "They were polite to each other? E-gads, girl, call the police or the hospital. They must be locked up." She began to giggle, and wasn't awake enough to dodge Dawn's swat. "_What??_"

"You are a butt-breath."

Buffy pulled her blankets up closer, prepared to snuggle in. "Unless you're going to sit there and toss more lame insults at me, why don't you just get lost? I have a test this afternoon in Lit. I've been studying for it all weekend, and I'd really like to get at least four hours of sleep before I take it."

Dawn stared at the top of Buffy's head, now barely visible under the blanket. "_Hunchback of Notre Dame_? I thought you were going to rent the movie."

There was a long pause before Buffy replied, "I found some extra time on my hands between vampire slayings."

Dawn grasped the hem of the blanket and slowly pulled it down, staring at Buffy. "You never have extra time. You were gone all weekend. I thought you were out hunting. Instead, you were _hiding_… from _them_."

Buffy sighed, realizing she was never getting back to sleep at this rate. "I prefer to be the slay-_er_, not the slay-_ee_. It was a little, well, uncomfortable. So I spent my time in the library."

Dawn narrowed her eyes, master interrogator at work. "Did you even know where it was?"

"Look, Dawn, I do study, sometimes. I just wanted to be out of the way for a bit. I decided that I might as well try to pass one of my classes for a change." She slowly pulled herself out of bed and stretched. "I know you're worried about the Seattleites, Dawn. But you know what? They've been through a lot before this. Sure, they're both a little…surly…right now. Max and Logan are friends. They'll get over it."

Dawn looked at Buffy, almost daring not to believe. "Really?"

Buffy stroked Dawn's hair back from her face. Such innocence in those eyes, such hope. Buffy said a silent prayer to anybody listening that those would be two traits her little sister would never lose. "Really. Mom's all but adopted Max and Logan, Dawnie. Has she ever let us stay mad at each other long?" Dawn shook her head no. "She won't let them, either." Buffy stood and escorted her sister out of her room and down the hall. "Did you know there aren't any dancing gargoyles in the book version of _Hunchback_?"

* * *

After she had kissed her own girls goodbye, she hunkered down to stalk her adopted "daughter". She nearly missed the move as she was going for a cup of coffee. She wasn't even sure what it was that she caught – a wisp of hair, the slight sound of clothes moving, a faint squeak of the door. "Max, wait," she called quickly, turning from the coffee pot.

Max slowly entered the room, looking everywhere but at Joyce. She leaned against the door, and crossed her arms, clearly unwilling to be there.

Joyce sighed to herself, not wanting this to be difficult. She couldn't help but marvel at the physical change that had taken place in the girl in only two months. The last vestiges of childhood that seemed to hover over the young had melted away in Max. She hadn't been eating well, so her body had morphed into a slimmer figure, with more angles to it than had existed before. Her hair, which had once still held traces of curl, was long and hung straight well past her shoulders. "Why don't you have a seat? A cup of coffee?"

Confusion briefly entered Max's empty eyes, and just as quickly flitted away. "No. Thanks," she replied shortly.

Joyce placed her coffee cup down on the counter and walked swiftly over to Max. "You want to be surly to Logan? That's just fine. But I have done nothing to you, and will have your respect."

Max eyes met Joyce's for the first time in days. She blinked, and took a careful step back from the older woman. "Sorry. I didn't mean…sorry." Max let out a slow breath as she walked into the dining room and sank into one of the chairs. She put her head in her hands.

Joyce let her sit for a minute while she finished pouring another cup of coffee for herself and a second for Max. Then she walked over and put a hand on the young woman's shoulder, leaving it there even when she involuntarily tried to shrink away from the touch. She set the cup of coffee down, watching as Max carefully wrapped her hands around the warm mug. She didn't say anything, just waited.

Max took a sip and sighed. "It's too good. All we have is sewer sludge, at best. I mean, Logan keeps the good stuff around, but even then I usually get the stuff that eats my stomach lining." She paused, and her eyelids dropped as she slowly set the mug down. "Had. Kept. Got."

Joyce nearly reached for Max's hand, wanting to comfort the girl, but intuited that a touch really wouldn't be welcome. "You must miss it very much."

Max shrugged with one shoulder, but didn't look up or say a word.

"Max, I know you're hurting. I'd give anything to be able to take your pain from you."

"Nobody…nobody understands."

Joyce almost smiled at the lament she'd heard millions of times from her own daughters. "When Hank left me, and Buffy and Dawn, I thought the entire world would stop spinning. Funny thing happened, though."

"It didn't," Max finished with a wry tone in her voice.

"It almost did." She inhaled the bitter coffee fumes and took a quick drink. It was going lukewarm. "I was a single woman, going back to work for the first time in years, and trying to console two heartbroken girls. I was drowning, because my life was falling apart."

"What did you do?" Max asked softly.

"I found little things at first to keep me grounded - my job, my art. Then I realized I was able to focus on the important things again. Buffy and Dawn. Myself. The world was spinning, and I could move forward."

"I'll…I'll never have a chance to…" Max paused, and briefly looked like she was going to continue, but instead just shook her head, and shrugged.

This time, Joyce did reach out and touch Max's hand. "You don't have to take giant steps, Max." She stood and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Just take steps." She leaned over and dropped a small kiss on Max's head, noting that she didn't pull away this time. Steps.

She turned to walk away and get ready for the day, calling over her shoulder, "And try playing nice for a change."

Joyce smiled as the words floated softly back to her. "I was."

* * *

Buffy sat in a happy little sunbeam at school, oddly enjoying completing the test that was in front of her. She completed yet another question with confidence and smiled to herself. _Damn, this studying thing really seems to be working. I really should try it more often_. She nearly giggled, but quickly smothered it under a cough, trying not to annoy the other quiz-goers around her. She returned her attention back to the exam.

She was nearly finished when she felt a small itch between her shoulder blades. She looked up towards the front of the room, but the teacher's aide that was proctoring the test was busy giving the evil eye to another student. She nearly shrugged it off, when she saw Giles beckoning wildly from the doorway.

_Crap_, she thought, and then mouthed exaggeratedly, _I'm taking a test_.

She forced herself to look back down. She was all set to answer the final question that was worth 10 of the grade, when she pushed a little too hard on the lead, and cracked the pencil. Buffy nearly felt tears well up in her eyes as she looked at its mangled form. "My lucky pencil," she moaned.

"Shhh!" the teacher's aide hissed, glaring at Buffy.

"Sorry! I didn't realize…" she changed her tone quickly to a murmur. "Sorry." Just about then she noticed that her little sunbeam was gone. She looked out the window at the single grey cloud that decided to obscure all sunlight that would have dared to come near her. She frowned and looked back to the doorway, where Giles was holding up a newspaper and pointing furiously first at it, then at her, then down the hallway.

Buffy rolled her eyes, realizing she was sunk. _Even when I try, I can't help but fail_. She picked up a small lead remnant, and scratched out a jagged, half illegible answer, before sprinting up to the front of the room. "I'm sorry, I have to go now. Uh…" Thinking quickly, she grabbed her stomach. "Cramps." She heard a snicker behind her, and realized that was the second thing she'd said way too loudly in the last few minutes. Completely giving up hope of any type of decent reputation in yet another course, she dashed out the door and nearly bowled Giles over, grabbing his arm as she went.

"Ouch! Watch your grip, would you?"

Buffy let go of his arm, but didn't dare utter an apology. "What's so important about this news article, Giles, that I just had to destroy any chances for even slivers of a social life?"

Giles thrust the paper in her hands as they briskly walked out of the school. "There was a mass murder aboard a train incoming into Sunnydale this morning. Six persons in one car were brutally slaughtered, including the porter for that car."

Buffy sighed as she quickly scanned the article. "Let me guess, Giles. Unexplained neck wounds?"

He touched his nose. "First guess. Our first stop will be the morgue, and then it's to the Magic Box to rally the troops. God only knows what unholy creature did this."

* * *

She sniffed, looking at the therapist. He wasn't her usual; she didn't seem to be able to keep them for long. "I don't know what to do about all of this, Mr. Therapist. I feel like I'm losing my Spikey."

The therapist regarded his unusual client. Her simpering was really starting to grate on his nerves, and he'd only known her for a grand total of ten minutes. He watched her carefully flip her blonde hair back over her shoulder before gently dabbing at her eyes with a linen handkerchief that he had given her to use. She blew her nose with a loud honk before tucking the material in the bodice of her skintight halter. "How so, miss, um…"

"Harmony." She took a shaky breath. "Just call me Harmony. Whenever he's home in our crypt, he can barely look at me. It's like, I don't know. Like I'm just a shallow imitation, you know?"

The therapist nodded in sympathy, even though he really didn't know. He wasn't sure he even had a clue. "Harmony, have you ever tried talking to, um, Spikey about your feelings?"

She sighed and stood, carefully walking around the small office with a slight flounce to her step. "I did try. I said, 'Spikey, pumpkin, I'd just be content to be boinking your brains out all day. If you'd just leave your shirt off so I can look at your muscley chest, we'd both feel a lot better.'"

"That's not…exactly what I meant. You seem to be making sure your needs are met. Maybe he thinks his needs aren't?"

Harmony looked at him like he was completely dim. "It's, like, all about _my _needs."

The therapist sighed. "Yes, of course. My mistake. Maybe try to bring something new into the relationship, keep things fresh? New lingerie, perhaps, or something adventurous such as…role-playing?"

Harmony pondered this thought. "Role-playing…yes…I can see it now. My shirtless, tight-pants Spikey, as John Travolta, rescuing me from the evil, twisted hands of the Slayer."

"Slayer?"

She glanced over her shoulder, and smiled an evil smile. "He hates her more than I do. I know he'll be game." She made a complete turn towards him. "Now, for your payment. You had some pretty nifty ideas back there, so I don't think I'm going to kill you." She heard the therapist sigh with relief. "But you'll still be a tasty snack." Her face transformed as he drew in a sharp breath.

* * *

The object of the day's therapy was at home in his crypt, struggling with a large wooden trapdoor in his floor. "Sodden…bloody…" He gave the door a heave and it moved into position and crashed down.

"Troubles?"

Spike quickly turned, arms raised in defense – or attack – but just as quickly lowered them. "Dawn. What are you doing here…alone?"

Dawn shrugged as she looked around the crypt, wandering around to see everything she could. The corners of Spike's mouth turned up, figuring out from whom she picked up that little habit. "School's out, but…"

"Don't want to go home yet, duck?"

Dawn sighed, and met his gaze. "Yeah. I mean, I love having Max and Logan around, but—"

"It's still different with two extra people in the mix. Well, no worries. It'll get better soon." He looked at her and noticed she had the appearance of settling in to stay for a while. "Right then, all better now. On your way." He took her arm and tried to guide her towards the door.

She easily turned from his grasp. "What's the rush? It's not like you're doing anything important."

His gaze narrowed. "Am too. Lots of things. Nasty things. Evil things." He paused. "Grrr."

Dawn just laughed and settled down in a junkyard reject armchair. "It's okay, Spike. You don't have to pretend with me."

"Pretend?"

"Well," she chose her words carefully. "It's just that…I feel safe with you." At his eye-bulging look, she cut off his protest. "For now, I mean. You're just biding your time until you get de-chipped."

Spike sighed and flopped down on the beaten sofa. "Damn the Initiative all to hell. You know, my name used to mean something before they sank their scientist claws into me? I traced a path of devastation every direction I turned." He scratched the top of his head, knowing that "can't be violent" bleeping chip was resting somewhere just beneath the surface. "Now it's like living on a short leash. It's humiliating."

Dawn smiled. "Don't worry, Spike. Your name still means something. After all, Buffy is still worried what'll happen when you get that chip out. She knows it could be all sorts of bad news."

Spike smiled slowly. "Tell me, little bit. What else does Buffy say about me?"

* * *

As Dawn slowly walked up the ramp to the porch – why bother with the step part? – she couldn't help but shiver at the creepy end to the story Spike told. She told him some Buffy stories; she made him pay her back in kind. He told her a story of a family he once killed, concluding with stalking and feeding off a small child in a coal bin. She probably should be disturbed by the fact that _he_ was the one who did the killing. But it was really hard, as she viewed it as more of a ghost story than a life history.

She sighed as she looked at the sky; it was just the other side of dusk. And as soon as she opened the door… She swallowed and bravely put her hand on the knob.

"Where the hell have you been?" Buffy hissed as she put one foot over the threshold.

Dawn tried to shrug casually. "Out."

"Out? That's all you have to say, is out?!" Buffy's eyes practically bugged out of her head. She would have continued her tirade, except she heard the click of shoes on the wood.

"Dawn! Oh, thank God." Joyce rushed into the room and grasped Dawn into a quick hug, before holding her at arms length and frowning. "Where have you been? Buffy called the gallery and said you didn't make it home from school. There were these murders and I thought that Glory…I've been so worried."

Now Dawn began to feel guilty. "I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. Really, I didn't. I just lost track of time."

Buffy looked at Dawn in disbelief. Logan quietly wheeled into the room, watching the interplay. "Dawn, I thought we'd gone through all of this months ago. It's really, really important that right after school you either come straight here or to the Magic Box."

"Great." She threw her book bag down on the stairs in a huff. "So now I'm a prisoner?"

Her mother sighed. "Dawn, that's not what she means at all. What she means is—"

"Max," Logan said sharply, turning. All eyes followed his into the kitchen, where Max had tried to creep by unnoticed. "Welcome back," he said dryly.

She held her chin up, casually walked towards the living room, and leaned sullenly against the doorframe. Catching Joyce's eye, she straightened. "Hey."

Dawn looked at Max and pointed. "Look, I'm not even the last one here."

"Max doesn't count," Joyce and Buffy said simultaneously.

"Yes, she does," Logan and Dawn replied.

Max threw her hands up, giving in before she even started, and leaned back against the door. "Just let me know what the ultimate verdict is, okay?"

Everybody started talking at once, not one of them making much sense to each other. Finally, Joyce clenched her hands and shouted over the din, "Stop!"

They stopped.

Joyce blinked and took a deep breath. "One: Dawn, you are not a prisoner. But you are still in danger, whether you like it or not." Dawn's eyes dropped. "But you've got Buffy to watch out for you. And Mr. Giles, and all of Buffy's friends…and now Logan and Max, too. And me." She walked over and put her hands on Dawn's shoulders. "To keep you safe, we have to know where you are. If you start out here, or at the Magic Box, it's a lot easier to keep track of where you are going."

Joyce lifted her eyes to Max and Logan. "Two: Max…she's an adult, and can take care of herself." She looked at Max. "You're not a prisoner here, either."

She shrugged. "I know."

"Then you don't have to escape all the time. We'd like to see you in the daylight hours for a change. Maybe for dinner? With _everyone_?" she added, casting a sharp glance at Buffy, who cringed and seemed to want to protest, but instead kept her mouth shut and nodded.

Max looked at Logan and sighed. She did promise to play nice. "Yeah. Dinner. It's not like I have plans or anything, so…I can be here."

Logan smiled. "I actually wasn't going to complain, you know. I just didn't want you to sneak by." He scratched the back of his neck. "Ummm…I was hoping we could work on our documents tomorrow night. I want you…I want us to have identities here. To at least appear legit."

Suddenly, it was hard for her to meet anyone's eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive posture. "Yeah. Whatever. Tomorrow."

It wasn't the rousing agreement he was hoping for, but it was a start.

Buffy, on the other hand, wasn't about to let Dawn off quite so easily. "So…Dawn. Where were you that was so important?"

Dawn mirrored Max's posture, trying to be casual. "I was…at Spike's."

"Great. My sister hung out with a killer all afternoon. Just wonderful."

Logan looked out of the corners of his eyes, but Max had already slipped away. He wondered whether she'd heard the comment or not.

Dawn uncrossed her arms and spoke quickly. "It's just that, well, it's so much quieter there than at the Magic Box. Or here. I actually got some homework done. And he tells great stories."

Buffy raised a slim eyebrow. "Oh yeah. Tell me, what stories has the crazed vampire been telling my sister."

Dawn wandered over to the couch and sat. "Ummm…just…stories," she said meekly, looking at her hands. "Nothing important."

The elder sister snorted. "Oh, that's all. Nothing important. Did you ever happen to think that hanging out with Spike is not only not cool, it's dangerous?"

"It's Spike!" she protested.

"Exactly my point. On top of that, it's…icky."

A slight smile crept up on Dawn's face. "I don't think he's icky."

Logan couldn't help but smile at the near shyness that Dawn was portraying, realizing she was deep in the middle of a crush. He wished that Max had stayed around to witness this interplay.

Apparently, Buffy recognized this as well. She narrowed her eyes at her younger sister and put fists on her hips. "You've got a crush on him. Dawn, you've got to shake yourself out of it and stop right now."

"Buffy…" Joyce warned at Buffy's tone.

Buffy spun. "Mom, he's a killer. A dead, evil, vampire!"

"With cool hair," Dawn pointed out, giggling a little, as Buffy's eyes almost bugged out of her skull.

Joyce tried unsuccessfully to smother a grin.

"You weren't that much older than me when you started dating a vampire," Dawn continued, trying to argue the case.

Buffy paused, eyeing her mother. Angel had been something of a touchy subject between them at times, especially when he'd lost his soul and had gone on a murdering rampage through Sunnydale. "Angel's different. He has a soul."

"Spike has a chip. It won't let him hurt anybody – physically at least. Isn't that the same thing?"

"It's not. He's a monster, and you are fourteen. Leave it alone."

Dawn sighed and decided to take pity on her sister. She knew the whole thing wasn't really _that_ big of a deal, since her mom wasn't really getting that involved in the argument. "Look. I like hanging out with him. That's it. Not that he'd ever notice anyway. Cuz of you."

Buffy stared at her blankly. "What's that supposed to mean?" Joyce also furrowed her brow, suddenly concerned by the potential implication.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Come on, Buffy. He's like totally got the hots for you."

Logan raised an eyebrow at Joyce and Buffy's reaction. He coughed politely and added, "You know, not that I've been around the situation very long or anything, but it's, um, it's really not that difficult to see. He's in love with you."

Buffy's jaw was slack, as Logan's words smacked her straight between the eyes. She couldn't come up with any rational reply.

* * *

_Tuesday March 27, 2001 – tentatively coming 12/31/06._

_A/N2 – mini-rant: The date is tentative due to more of ff dot net's changes to formatting requirements. There are certain common conventions that I use in my writing that ff dot net no longer allows. Example: a single asterisk on either end of a word. To any of the ff dot net staff, that example is a convention that can be found in published works. I'd be happy to give you a list if you don't believe me. It is highly frustrating to slowly see this website stripping away characters it feels are useless and forcing our creativity into a no asterisk, no dashed breaks box. It is equally frustrating to have to write out ff dot net, as the hosting website strips its own name. That all being said, I find I have to go back and re-edit the parts of Ch. 9, when I would rather spend my scant bits of time on more productive endeavors. So please bear with me if a day of a chapter gets posted a day or two or three later than when I anticipate. Thanks for listening. This rant is now over, and you can go back to your regularly scheduled thoughts about how delusional I must be to write this story. - DN_


	3. Tuesday March 27, 2001

_A/N: Look for disclaimers at the beginning of this and other chapters. Kiddies, make sure that your tray tables are stowed and your seat backs are in their upright and locked positions. There's going to be a long bout of turbulence with this one – the bulk of the story. Get those barf bags out and, in the words of one of our philosophers…HOLD ON TO YOUR DRINKS!_

* * *

_Tuesday March 27, 2001_

It was the one thing that Buffy didn't really ever think she'd get used to: the smell. Most of the monsters and other assorted and sundry baddies that she fought had their own unique odors, which could be some of the vilest of the vile. None of it, however, was exactly like the stench of death.

The train car was simple, much like many others that passed through Sunnydale every day. Unfortunately, the shiny silver exterior absorbed the March heat and made the whole experience that much worse. The bodies, at least, were gone by the time Buffy and Xander walked by the sleeping guard and ducked the crime scene tape. The blood that had soaked into the thick fabric of the seats gave a sharp, metallic and completely foul odor that permeated the air. As they entered the car, Buffy instinctively began breathing thinly through her mouth, until she was able to slide a few of the windows open.

The fresh air didn't do much to alleviate the smell.

Buffy sighed and just tried to ignore it as she examined the seats. The Sunnydale PD, in an excellent example of their general incompetence, had outlined all of the bodies in a thick white tape in lieu of chalk, when they would have been much better off leaving well enough alone. Both destroy valuable evidence.

"Ya think they'd start taking note of what they see on all those crime shows," Xander commented, observing the tape.

Buffy couldn't help but snort, grateful for the moment of levity that Xander offered. "Yeah, because they're always _so_ accurate."

Xander eyed her slyly. "Well, we are talking about the Sunnydale fuzz. They need any help they can get." He turned on the flashlight he'd brought with him, shining it obliquely against random surfaces, seeing if there was anything to see. "Not much here, Buff, other than the fingerprints of assorted train-goers and gloveless idiot cops." He continued to look and turned when Buffy didn't comment. She was looking out the window, distracted. "Buff?"

"Hmmm? Oh, sorry." She walked over to one of the outlines and studied it. The outline looked like the hand was gripping its neck. Occasionally there was something to be said for incompetence. "It's just…Dawn said something last night that's got me thinking."

Xander grimaced. "Don't think. Thinking's bad. Taxes your brain and wears it out early. You don't have enough left to even put two cents in. I'm saving mine until I'm ninety and I'll need it most."

Buffy smiled softly. Ninety wasn't in her future. "Well, she said that…she… Never mind."

Xander waggled a finger at her. "Nuh uh. You opened that door. Now you walk bravely through while the rest of us cower behind."

"She said…Spike's in love with me."

Xander blinked. Then blinked again. Then he burst into laughter and grabbed his sides. "Hah! Ow! Hilarity cramp." At Buffy's scowl, he desperately pushed the giggles down, trying to regain some sense of the little decorum he possessed. "And how, pray tell, did Dawn come to this insightful conclusion of love and devotion?" He started giggling again.

"Stop it. It's not funny."

"Sure it is!" he replied. "It's a hallucination by a madman. Madman hallucinations can be extremely funny." Buffy rolled her eyes and walked towards the opposite end of the car. "I repeat. How, pray tell, did Dawn get the vamp insight goin' on?"

"Would you stop using the phrase 'pray tell?'"

Xander whispered, "Pray tell."

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she pulled a stake from her pocket.

Xander coughed manfully. "Sorry."

"She apparently decided that hanging out at his crypt was the über-cool after school thing to do these days." Buffy tapped the stake against her hand before sliding it back in her pocket.

He sighed. "Speaking of the L word, Max and Logan still on the outs?"

Buffy shook her head distractedly. "No, they're more on the in-betweens, I guess. They still drag down the base temp of the house twenty degrees or so. We all mostly just stay away. But Mom had a talk with Max, I think, so at least she's trying. Kind of. Anyway, Dawn's hanging out with Spike because of the big frost, and…well, I think she has a crush on him."

Xander's face fell so fast, it was almost comedic. "I'm the one she has a crush on! Me!"

Buffy looked out the window, wondering how it could be so damn sunny outside. It had to start raining some day. "He's always been obsessed with me…fixated…but…love?" She shook her head. "Nah." She motioned to Xander. "There's nothing here. Nothing at all. Let's go."

"It's always been me! Big funny Xander! So I'm just not the cool one any more? And that's _okay_? Since when?" He kept muttering on the way out.

Neither noted the doll lying on the overhead luggage rack, a red blindfold carefully shielding its eyes from the hideous scene.

* * *

Buffy was leaning over the counter talking with her mother, who was beginning the basics of dinner prep, so she would have less to do that evening. Buffy was bolting a sandwich for lunch while trying to plan the rest of her day. Joyce reached across the counter and slapped Buffy's hand with a wooden spoon. This resulted in a yelp from Buffy, who dropped her sandwich. "Eat slowly, or you'll choke," admonished Joyce, with a shake of the spoon.

Buffy rolled her eyes, and picked up her sandwich again just as a knock came at the kitchen door. She paused in mid-chew and glanced the door. She saw the shadowy outline of Spike cowering from the sun under his beloved leather duster. She tried to swallow and promptly choked.

Joyce made her way around the counter as the knock came again. She grabbed Buffy by the shoulders. "It might not be anything. Just…be cautious."

Buffy sighed as she walked to the door and slowly opened it. Spike didn't dash in like he usually did, just hovered under his jacket, with his toes just against the threshold. "Buffy," he said reverently, and swallowed almost nervously.

She tried not to gag. "Spike. What do you want?" she asked shortly.

He eyed Joyce, who was watching him cautiously. Both women were looking at him in the most curious manner. "I'd…I'd like to apologize." He was surprised to hear the stutter in his voice, but buckled down. "I know Dawn got in a little later than you likely expected the little bit, and it was entirely my fault. You shouldn't beat her because of it."

Joyce sighed. "Spike." She exchanged a quick look with Buffy. "Thanks for the apology. We were a little worried. Would you, um, like a cup of coffee?"

He stepped into the kitchen and dropped his jacket back around his shoulders when he was out of the sunlight. "No, but thank you for the kind offer. Actually, I was hoping to steal away your eldest for a bit." He ran a confused hand through his hair, as they seemed to show some consternation at his words. "I might have a bead on where your latest mass homicidal bloodsuckers are holding up. Two vamps in a warehouse. Thought you could go grab your pointy sticks and we could go investigate. I've got my car."

"Ummm. Yeah." Whatever her feelings were about him, she really had to push them aside and get this mess taken care of. She abandoned the remnants of her sandwich and walked around the counter to her mother. "You go on out. I'll meet you outside in a bit." After he left, she turned to Joyce. "Well?"

Her mother shrugged. "I don't know. He looked…"

"Yeah. I know."

"Have you been doing anything to lead him on?" Joyce asked nervously. Her daughter dating Angel had been one thing. Spike's crush was another thing entirely.

Buffy rolled her eyes and rooted through a kitchen junk drawer before pulling out a couple of stakes. "I insult him and beat him up a lot. I guess that's like, what? Second base? I'll be back for dinner, I promise." She gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and then left.

The ride to the warehouse was fraught with an uncomfortable silence. Spike was acting just plain …weird. As though he didn't really know what to do with himself. Buffy cringed as that phrase brought very unfortunate images to her already stressed mind. They sat quietly, waiting for the return of the two vampires, the only sound being Buffy's denial of Spike's offer of bourbon. As soon as they saw the two dark figures return, Buffy practically hurtled herself out of the car, not even looking at Spike. He was surprised by her abrupt exit, but quickly caught up.

Buffy indulged herself by kicking open the door.

Inside, the vampires were apparently ready to kick back and enjoy an evening. One was looking through a CD collection, while the other was gently shaking a Jiffy Pop popcorn pan over a lantern. Buffy no more than began to lift her stake before they froze. "Slayer! George, it's the Slayer!"

George looked at the first vampire cautiously and made a slight sheepish shrug with his shoulders. Suddenly, they turned and ran, practically kicking up dust as they dashed out of the warehouse.

Spike blinked as he took just a few small steps. "Well, then. You run!" he shouted manfully. He turned back to Buffy and tried for a careful smile. "You know, if I'd known it was going to be a smattering of nancy boys, I wouldn't have bothered."

Buffy didn't react as he'd assumed she would, with some off-the-shoulder quip. Instead, she frowned, and looked rather consternated instead. She stalked over, and pulled the popcorn off the lantern before it would burn and set the place on fire. She carefully ran a hand over the rather comfy looking couches, before eyeing the rest of the joint. Some pictures, the music, a stereo and TV… "Why did you bring me to a nest?"

Spike looked at her and blinked in apparent confusion. "So, you're saying they're a couple of poofters?"

"No, I'm saying this is a waste of time. This is obviously the old homestead for those two. Long-term residence and all of that. The train? That was in the last couple days, by someone who doesn't belong here." She glared at him and cut out sharply, "A _complete _waste of my time. She turned on one heel and stalked towards the door.

Spike beat her there and opened it for her.

Two steps away from the exit and it blasted Buffy between the eyeballs like a shot from a cannon. She slowly turned to look at Spike, frowning at his completely innocent visage. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she clipped out angrily, stalking away from him into the alley.

Spike looked at her, then looked at his hand on the doorknob. He let go of it quickly, like it had burned his palm. "Umm…I'm sorry. I just wasn't thinking. Get your pret…get your ass outside already." He waved a hand distractedly at her.

"No." Buffy decided it was time to stop running and stand her ground. "You can't wave this off, this…this…whatever you think this is."

Spike eyed her carefully. "I think you're about off your rocker." He took a few steps toward her, meeting her where she stood. "I don't know what _you_ think this is, but I know exactly what this is…_Slayer_." The term used to be a nearly insulting nickname from him, instead, it fell from his lips almost like a benediction.

Buffy closed her eyes, feeling her muscles quiver and her blood turn to ice. "Oh my God," she said quietly. She opened her eyes again, and met his gaze. _Don't lead him on – no beating him up. Right._ "_You_. You're the one who's completely out of your mind. You can't possibly think you can have feelings for me!"

Spike breathed deeply through his nose. He could have tried to deny it, hold this longer, but the flare up he was expecting was now at a head. "It's not all that unusual. Working side-by-side for so long. Feelings are bound to develop."

"No! No, no, feelings do not develop. No feelings. The only feelings I've _ever_ had for you are loathing…disgust. Because, in case you've conveniently forgotten due to the Initiative neutering session, you are a vampire!"

It was one of few times in his life, but he felt the curse of being a vampire weigh heavy on his shoulders. That was the insulting term in her rant – none of the others. "In case you've completely forgotten_, love_," he too could be insulting with words, "you've always been a little particular to my side. Your beloved Angel was a vampire, too. But, oh, 'he was good' you say? Try again. He's got more years of bad on me than he's ever dreamed of having years of good. He had to have a soul forced on him to change. I don't need that. I can change, too."

"With what, that chip in your head? That's not change. That's just a temporary restraining order. You're like a serial killer in prison!" Buffy scoffed.

"Lots of women get off on that sort of thing!" Spike winced, wondering why that had to pop out of his mouth at that particular moment. Buffy turned her back on him but he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. "I can't stop thinking about you. You might not think this is real, but I _know_ it is. My heart might not beat anymore, but I can feel its phantom pulse every time you are around me. I _need_ you to listen. _We _need to talk about this."

Buffy turned her head slightly toward him. "There is no _we_." She said it quietly, like a curse uttered under her breath. She opened the door quickly, and vanished.

"Buffy," Spike said in a sigh to the closed door.

* * *

Max hesitated before she opened the door to the Summers' house. She nearly chickened out. _I can always turn away. I can go somewhere else. Anywhere_. _It's not like I promised or anything…not like my promises mean much_. She harshly pushed down an image of her sister that threatened to assault her mind. That provided the impetus that propelled her through the door.

The sudden onslaught of noise blasted her senses, causing Max to wince involuntarily. She cautiously stepped into the front hallway and glanced towards the dining room. _Everyone_ was there. Buffy's friends. Joyce and Dawn. Logan.

Giles.

Her feet were now rooted to the floor, as she couldn't help but stare at him. This man not only was the bearer of the words that changed her life, but he helped Logan lie to her, agreed to hold back the truth. In her eyes, that made Giles the more guilty party.

The noise died down, as everyone noticed Max was back, and staring at Giles with something short of hate in her eyes. Giles had the grace to avert his gaze.

Max didn't realize she wasn't breathing until she noticed Joyce's direct stare. It wasn't anything hostile, or challenging even, although she knew the latter would be coming soon. It was instead sympathetic, and understanding.

She almost felt ashamed.

She took a deep breath, and met their stares. "Hey," she said casually, even though her voice came out sounding as though she hadn't used it in decades.

She walked around the table, barely taking note of the items upon it, and chose the one open seat, conveniently left next to Logan. Max took another breath, and looked at Giles again. "Giles," she said carefully. He looked up in surprise. She tried to think of the right words, to try. "Hey." She nearly winced at her own repetition.

Giles smiled. "Hey," he replied softly.

The scoobies grinned. So did Joyce, in approval of the effort.

The hard part out of the way, Max took a second to examine the layout of the table. Dinner for five had turned into dinner for ten, with books and maps and newspapers thrown into the mix. She couldn't spot one surface of the table unused, even in front of Logan. He, like the others, seemed to be eating from a plate hovering somewhat off to the side, but instead of a book, had a laptop sitting in front of him. Max couldn't help but feel some of her old resentments instinctively creep in, and hastily pushed them away. "Where the hell did you get that?" Okay, so they weren't pushed down quite that far. She looked down, and noticed that there had been a quick rearrangement, and now a full plate sat in front of her.

"Eat something." Joyce initially said this to Max, but followed up with looks to her girls, and then to the others at the table. The scoobies went back to their meals with gusto, and the conversation started up again, rather noisily. Any other day, Max would have thought it sounded a lot like Jam Pony, or Crash, with her own friends' incessant chatter. This day, though, Max did her best to tune it out. But, like most conversations do, it soon weaved in and out of her conversation with Logan.

"Logan, seriously, where did you get that?"

"What about down by the tracks, you know, not the commuter ones? It'd be easy for someone to slip in and hang around unnoticed."

"Willow's letting me borrow it."

"And then Mr. Smith put his hands in his pants pockets…"

"For…what? You're an art fence. Not like you really need it."

"No, they are actually quite territorial in that area of town. Also, I do have a standing arrangement with a wino, who has permanent residence there. He promised to let me know if anyone new tries to squat, in return for a nice Clos du Bois. Allows me to keep better informed on the vampire vagabond population."

"I'm not a fence, Max. I'm a journalist, which does require the occasional use of a computer. In my free time I'm a…I'm a…"

"It turns out that his fly wasn't zipped all the way…"

"I'd actually respect you more if you just admit you're a fence."

"You know, I was talking to this one demon that I knew, oh, 200 years ago or so, and he, er, it said that _it_ heard there was this…"

"I'm not a fence. Joyce, help me out here, would you?"

"So when he put his hands in his pockets, it kind of, um, spread it open further."

Max nearly laughed at Dawn's story, able to follow the flow of all of the conversations smoothly in spite of their synchronicity. She mentally rolled her eyes at herself and focused back on Logan, as the volume began to quiet down to more of a gentle hum. "Curator and appraiser of the more unusual and rare objets d'art, fence. Same difference." Joyce nearly choked on a carrot at that description. "So what's so important that you need a computer right now?"

"Identification, Max. I mentioned it to you yesterday. I want us to have real backgrounds here. Not just faux ID's that a 16 year old Kwik-E-Mart clerk could spot from twenty paces." He resumed typing and didn't notice her face fall.

Joyce did, and frowned slightly as Max asked softly, "Backgrounds?"

Logan looked up at the tone in her voice. "Yeah, backgrounds," he replied, just as softly. "_Real_ ones. I'm starting from the beginning, and then we can get driver's licenses, social security cards, whatever, and be legal here."

To her, it was almost too good to be true. She shrugged. "Sounds like a plan."

Logan smiled, and there was a slight twinkle behind his frames. He grabbed his wheels, and couldn't help but swing back and forth a little. "So…you ever pick a birthday?"

Max felt a few of the more familiar eyes at the table turn towards her. She began to fidget slightly. Logan felt his good mood at her initial teasing, however somber, fall away as he realized her discomfort at the new attention. He nearly apologized before she looked at her untouched plate, and started pushing food around. "Ummm, not really. I never could decide. Does it matter?"

Logan tried to shrug casually. "Well, the year does. You have to be 16 to drive, 18 to vote, and 21 to drink."

"Wait a minute," Buffy began, picking up on the threads of the conversation. Dawn, curious, abandoned her plate briefly to walk around and stare over Logan's shoulder.

"Cool," she mumbled.

"21's fine. I could use a legal beer. Put whatever you want for the date. Doesn't really matter."

"No, seriously," Buffy continued, her curiosity piqued. "How old are you really?"

"18," Max replied at the same time as Logan's definitive, "19."

Max slid her eyes to his, and corrected herself in a small voice. "19."

Logan's voice was just as low as hers. "You were about 18 when I met you, over a year ago."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "That's not fair. I'm not 21 and you get to be 21 when you're really only…wait, you don't know how old you are, when your birthday even is??"

"Buffy," Joyce said sharply.

Max's eyes were downcast. "They…never told me."

The sudden silence at the table was deafening. Even Logan attempted to turn his attention back to filling in information for an excellent reproduction of a birth certificate, although he was sorry for unintentionally causing her more pain. But just as he reached another land mine entry, the youngest voice there spoke up, completely oblivious to any troubles, due to her rapt attention to Logan's screen. "What was your mother's name?"

The bile rose so quickly in her throat that she nearly couldn't contain it. She swallowed quickly several times, her eyes blurring. She blinked, and they cleared. "I'm s…" She couldn't even speak. She hastily stood, knocking over her chair in the process. She righted it, and managed to gasp out. "I'm sorry." She turned to walk out of the room.

"Max?" Joyce and Logan said simultaneously, one voice concerned, the other apologetic. Max stopped, and slowly turned back, not meeting their eyes.

"Max," Dawn timidly whispered.

"Don't," Max snapped. She finally composed herself, and looked at Joyce dead on. "I can't. Not like this." Before anyone could say another word, the front door was slamming.

No one knew what to even begin to say, as Logan pushed one hand tiredly through his hair, making pieces stand at odds to the rest of the disarray.

"She…she told me I could ask her questions," Dawn began, trying unsuccessfully to reason Max's actions. "She said that…that she'd just tell me if she wouldn't answer."

Logan briefly massaged the bridge of his nose as he looked over the rest of the form. Blanks…all blanks. "Dawn," he began, and stopped short. It was odd, he thought. It had never occurred to him before that she had really asked for this a long time ago, so she could maybe find her past.

He never did help her. Not really. Not then, and certainly not now. It was hard to swallow.

He looked up at the girl who wanted answers of her own. "It's not the ones that she won't answer that are the problem, Dawn. It's some of the ones that she can't answer that get to her."

He looked at the space for mother's name, and realized that this was one question of many that would never be answered. He couldn't give an adult Max a mother who would be looking for an infant or a toddler. The most he would _ever _be able to manage for Max would be a name, which would never, truly, be enough.

For the first time, he really understood what he'd only thought he had before. She really had lost _everything_, except for one person.

The person who'd betrayed her.

* * *

Spike slowly, almost painfully returned to his crypt. He'd stalked around Sunnydale for a while, but it was mortifying to realize that every place he could possibly think of to stir up trouble reminded him of _her_. He'd told Buffy about the phantom pulse in his heart; right now, he had a very real ache. He put a hand to his face, and mentally cursed himself for being nothing more than a lovesick puppy, when he felt the very air distort and move around him. He peered in the shadows and asked, "Who's there?"

Briefly, he had the wildest notion it was Max, blending with the shadows, as she was very adept at doing. But at the voice, that sultry, sensuous voice with the melodic English that came from lower class London, he knew who the shadow truly was.

"Poor Spike," she said, stepping from the darkness, letting the faint cast of the moonlight illuminate her. "What has this world done to you?"

"Drusilla," Spike whispered reverently. He took in her form like a thirsty man would a glass of water. She was exactly as he had remembered. The thin, lithe form, thick brown hair hanging straighter to her shoulders than he'd last seen, the porcelain skin, and the pale blue eyes that were always slightly vacant even at their most alert. The thoughts of Buffy quickly vanished, like smoke.

Drusilla smiled softly as she stepped closer to him. Her flowing black skirt rustled gently. "William, I've been looking all over for you. Miss Edith and I took the trolley to find you, but it was crowded so. Miss Edith ran from the confusion."

Spike nearly sighed, both in relief and in consternation. The bloody doll that was ever present with her was nowhere in sight. He had retrieved it for her from many a sticky situation, and had nearly once gotten her killed in Prague. He was happy not to see it around for a change. "Drusilla," he said again. "I've been here for a bit, and a bite. All you had to do was look."

"I always look, but you never see." She stepped close enough to lay a cold hand against his cheek. He closed his eyes, and took in her familiar, comforting smell. "I want us to be a family again, my William." She replaced her hand with her cheek, and moved her lips closely to his ear. "Come away with me."

Spike hesitated. _Away_. The simple word scattered all thoughts of their past and ricocheted him violently back to his present. He turned from her. "I…I can't, Dru. You know, when we were little vamps in knickers, it was all fine and dandy to be trolling the world all willy-nilly. But I'm a settled man now. I've got a sweet little setup here in Sunny-D." He dropped hard into his armchair. "Decent digs and all the tasty townies I can eat."

"Don't lie to mommy," Drusilla scolded, wagging a finger at him. "Making up stories will get you put in the corner again. I already know why you're not coming. "Tin soldiers put funny little knick-knacks in your brain." She grabbed her own head, and closed her eyes in sympathetic pain, jerking it with each syllable. "Can't hunt, can't hurt, can't kill!"

She walked over to him and placed her hands on his head. He made a move to pull away from her, but her gentle touch on him held him in place. "There it is. No more than a farthing. But does so much damage. You've become not much more than an innocent, have you?"

This time, he jerked from underneath her touch. "Right, so you've heard. Poor Spike's become a cautionary tale for vampires, right? 'You better be good, kiddies, or else they might wire you up someday!'" He grumbled at his own pathos. It was no wonder even Buffy didn't want him. He was beyond worthless.

Dru put her hands back on his head, and he wished her evil touch alone could heal him. "I don't believe in science. All those bits and molecules no one's ever seen. I trust eyes and heart alone. And do you know what mine is singing out right now?" She slid her hands down his head and over his chest, running them up and down in circles. "You may have forgotten who you are, but I never have, _Spike_." The word dropped from her lips like rain. She walked around the chair, and pulled him forward, straddling his legs. She continued to run her hands over his flesh. "You are a _killer_ - the executioner of all that is good tidings and rainbows. The _true_ slayer that strikes fear into the hearts of all that beat."

Spike felt her grind herself down gently into his lap, getting excited from her words. The word _slayer _had him shifting slightly, though, trying to disengage. But he looked into her eyes, and was hypnotized. He couldn't help but sigh and admit, "The pain. Love, you don't understand, it's… it's blinding."

Drusilla grasped his head and pulled it to her chest, stroking it as he rested there.

"It's like everyone else in this world. All in your head. Little blue shocks hold you back, hold you down. You think they are chains, but they lie." She leaned down and put her lips to his forehead. "You." She moved her lips to his eyelids, giving the benediction to him. "William the Bloody..." She now hovered her lips over his own, and he knew he would have felt her breath, if she had any. "...will return." She moved into him.

"What the heck is this?"

Spike rolled his eyes at the sharp voice, and pulled his head away from Drusilla's to look over her shoulder. "Oh, bloody hell."

Harmony stood there with several shopping bags full of clothes. "I'm out trying to work on saving our relationship, and what do I find you doing? Or should I say, _who_?"

Drusilla carefully disengaged herself from Spike's lap and smoothed out a fold in her skirt. Spike sighed. "Harm, we never had a relationship, we just had sex."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So, now you've gone and picked up some cheap queen of the damned to dress up like your precious Droodzilla instead."

"Harm," Spike warned.

She let out her breath in a dramatic huff. "You'd better not be thinking what I think you're thinking. 'Cause my answer is the same as always - no threesomes unless it's boy, boy, girl," she gestured at each of the words, and then quickly considered, "or Charlize Theron."

Spike felt his IQ drop just being in the same room as her. "Harm, you moron, this _is_ Drusilla."

Harmony turned and saw Drusilla watching her with a small smile, the kind that is given to young children, and idiot pets. "Oh." She stalked over to the significantly older woman and prepared to give her the one piece of her mind that she had saved. "Well, you've got some nerve showing up here like this, after breaking my sweet boo-boo's heart."

Dru looked over Harmony's shoulder at Spike and mouthed the word "boo-boo?" Spike really couldn't come up with more energy to do anything other than shrug. Harmony continued, the words rushing from her mouth without much interference from her brain. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been to break down the walls he put up after you left? I mean, _serious _trust issues."

"Harm..."

She ignored the dark tone that had crept in his voice. "So it's no use you crawling back to him, 'cause Spikey don't play that game any more, Morticia."

Drusilla raised a slim hand, and put it up in the "talk to the hand" gesture. Spike was a little surprised that she'd managed to pick up even that in the time he knew she'd spent in Los Angeles. It wasn't her usual sort of gesture.

As soon as Harmony turned around and stalked back to Spike, however, he'd made his mind up. _He_ was ready for change. For action. His hand shot out and grabbed Harmony by the throat, lifting her until her toes reached for the ground frantically underneath her. "It's been fun while it lasted, Harm, but I think it'd be best now if you hit the road." He threw her across the room, and watched with glee as she smashed into the wall, and slid dizzily to the floor. Her stunned look excited him.

Harmony couldn't put enough words together as she clutched at her throat and asked, "Why?"

He smiled evilly. "Because I'm back."

Drusilla slid towards him, and wrapped herself around his body. "Welcome home," she murmured softly, before crushing her mouth to his.

* * *

It was logical to begin his new life at the Bronze. Often, in his old life pre-chip, it had been the scene of a lot of his personal brand of mischief. Plus, the live music always provided a nice backdrop for blood.

They moved through the crowd, together, a team once more. He reached around her and nipped a glass of wine from a passing waiter, and passed it to her. She drained the glass in one long drink, and smiled, the crimson of the wine staining her lips. He felt his blood move in anticipation. He took her hands and led her to the dance floor, pulling her as close as he could. His body fit with hers easily, just like it had so many times before, like she was made just for him. They danced among the young bodies, grinding and thrusting against each other. Their own personal rhythm was slow and sensuous. He placed his lips against her neck, pulling her even closer.

She looked up and over his shoulder to the balcony area. The couple caught her eye, like sparkling jewels in a display case. She turned in his arms, so she was facing away from him, and snaked one arm around back behind his neck, directing his attention as she leaned her head back to rest against his shoulder.

He moved his arms down to her waist as he watched the young couple kissing, like their entire lives depended on fitting their tongues far enough down their throats to lick the other's knees. He sensed her looking at him, anticipating his reaction to the sight, and grinned.

Young love. It was perfect.

They moved together, off the dance floor and into the back stairwell. They silently crept up together, and he didn't have to ask her reaction to the sight of the pair obliviously making out, never noticing the arrival of the vampires.

She walked up to them, quickly snapped the girl's neck, and shoved her at him. Before the boy could react in anything but horror, her face changed, the smooth features now rough and frightening, as she grabbed his face and, turning it away from her, bit his neck.

He held the girl, feeling the shuddering pulse echoing in the quickly dying body, and paused for reasons even he couldn't name. He could feel his partner's eyes on him, as she drained the life out of the boy.

He made his decision, and bit.

The girl's fresh, warm, _human_ blood rushed through him in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. While he missed the joy of the hunt, the hurt, and the kill, it didn't really matter to his veins. Suddenly, he was Spike again, and it felt _good_.

Drusilla's eyes remained on him as he drank for his life.

* * *

Buffy slowly approached Spike's crypt, a little uneasy about being there. "It's just like any other day. In spite of the fact that he…well, that doesn't matter. Help is what matters. He'll probably be grateful to be graced with my presence, or something completely disgusting like that." She'd gotten word of two more vampire-related murders that night, and really needed his help to break into the morgue after hours. _I'd've asked Max, but she's been very clear about our time not really being her business_._ I think she'd just rather be getting herself sorted out right now rather than trying to sort us out as well._

She hesitated before pushing open the old crypt door. "Spike?" she called as she entered. The silence was heavy in the dark, stale air. She sighed and nearly choked on the faint odor. "I guess there's something to be said for not breathing." She noticed a faint light near the back, towards the floor, and made her way over. As she got closer, she noticed there was a trapdoor lying open. A faint light within cast a glow that reached even the upper parts of the crypt. _Curiosity killed the cat_, she warned herself, then mentally shrugged. _Nothing in that saying about Slayers._ She cautiously climbed down a ladder and investigated the new area. She nearly tripped over a stack of skulls as she moved through. "Ugh," she couldn't help but say out loud.

Goosebumps rose on her arms. She noticed a second glow on a far side of the room. She made her way over in that direction, and saw some candles sitting atop an old bureau, that was mostly covered with some sort of thick tarp. _Fire trap_, she thought, as the candles seemed to flicker too closely to the cloth, and carefully pulled it off.

"Holy crap," she said in awe after the cloth dropped away.

In the flickering light, she saw…herself. Drawings, what seemed to be hundreds of drawings, of herself. Moving, sitting, standing, sleeping, fighting. It seemed to be her life sketched out. Nearby, she noticed a mannequin observing the shrine. It, like Buffy, was blonde, and was wearing a sweater of hers that had been missing for days.

It was the most disturbing thing she'd ever seen in her life.

She quickly ran back to the ladder and climbed back up, intending to just leave and find Max and force her to help break into the morgue. She would never ask for Spike's help ever again. She reached the top, and found herself staring at two pairs of shoes. She looked up.

Drusilla and Spike smiled down at her. Suddenly, Buffy knew who her killer was. That alone was enough to give her chills, but the sight of the two of them together sent ice straight to the center of her bones.

"Here, luv. Let me help you up there." Spike grabbed Buffy around the wrist before she could react, and pulled her off the ladder. "You remember, Dru, don't you, Buffy?"

Buffy turned slowly. Drusilla's smile broadened and she wagged her fingers in a cheerful wave. Suddenly, Buffy knew exactly who was behind the recent murder spree. "So nice that you could come play. How's your mum?" As Buffy's eyes widened, the vampire quickly brought out a cattle prod from behind her back and gave Buffy a swift jolt of electricity. Buffy collapsed immediately. Drusilla giggled and clapped with joy. "Oh, I love how she sparkled. Again!"

"No, I don't think so," Spike said slowly. He quickly pulled the prod from Dru's hands and turned it on her. Drusilla joined Buffy on the floor, unconscious. "Now, I think that just works a little better for me."

* * *

Buffy's head hurt. She was really tired. Her hands were numb. Those were the first thoughts she had as she blearily opened one eye. She was grateful that there was only a faint amount of candlelight, not nearly enough to enhance the headache that seemed to extend down to a crick in her neck. An odd humming, not seemingly to any tune, seemed to fill the room.

_Candlelight?_

Buffy blinked again and lifted her head, her vision clearing. She realized that she was not in a room, but in a cave of sorts and, as her memories began to creep back in place, she remembered that the candlelight was coming from a shrine – devoted to her.

"Ugh," she said again. She pulled on her arms to try to bring some blood flow back into her hands, and realized that chains, out to either side of her, held them aloft.

"Would you mind being a little more quiet over there? Some of us are trying to listen to the pretty music."

_Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse…_Buffy turned her head and noticed Drusilla, chained to a column near the center of the room, her arms sharply twisted towards her back. Somehow, the vampire didn't really seem to care that she was in the position she was in. Probably one of the perks of being insane.

Another memory of a second or two plopped itself back into place, and Buffy frowned. "Weren't you helping me get into this predicament?"

Drusilla hummed another couple of bars of whatever the soft melody was. "Balloons and lions and blood. The heart breaks so many ways."

Buffy sighed and let her arms droop again in the chains. "I should have known I wouldn't get a logical response from you."

"Shhhh," Drusilla hissed. "I'm having a conversation."

"Yeah, with the voices in your head."

Dru chuckled, an oddly frightening sound given the surroundings. "Not my head. The one in your head. Round and round she goes. Merrily and tumbles to the toes."

"It's really no use arguing with her." Buffy winced as Spike walked into the circle of light. "She's really quite sane. Sometimes." Spike turned to Drusilla and gently ran a hand down her hair. "Which is what makes her so deliciously psychotic."

Drusilla chuckled low and loudly, yet still with the utmost calm. "Yumm," she agreed, and then just as quickly switched to an almost pouty look. "The game changed. You never gave me a chance to use the spinner."

Spike sighed and dropped his eyes from her face. "Had to, love. Can't play the same old game forever. Sometimes you have to be willing to be the thimble instead of the bleedin' car." He slowly turned to look at Buffy.

She glared back at him, struggling. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!"

He moved closer, until he was not more than a breath away from her. "Proving something. You brushed me off before. You have no choice but to listen now."

Dru nodded in agreement. "Only 56. Now will never be here again."

"Would you just shut up for a minute?" Buffy asked almost politely, to her own surprise.

Spike took immediate advantage of the silence. "Buffy. I lo—"

"Don't. Don't you even _dare_ say it."

Spike grabbed her face, roughly, and forced her to look at him. "I love you, Buffy."

Drusilla started laughing, a low giggle that gradually evolved into a maniacal cackle.

"Ugh," was the best reply Buffy could come up with, closing her eyes to the sight of him. When he let go of her face, she opened her eyes. He was still inches away from her.

"Well?"

Buffy only shook her head.

Spike frowned, this not being the reaction he expected. Sure, he wasn't expecting her living love, but not this.

"I saw this," Drusilla began. "I knew this was coming. The pixies whispered it in my ear." Her gaze drifted off slightly.

Spike huffed a deep breath and turned from Buffy, stalking over to the other woman. "I'm tired of hearing about the blasted pixies, Dru!"

"That's fine. The pixies don't like you anyway."

That distracted him. "They don't? Why…Damn it, Dru. Would you stop with the insano talk already for five seconds?"

She looked directly into his eyes. "It's why I left. I couldn't be here to watch the fall. But you begged for another chance, and here I am. But you fell anyway." She managed to shift position slightly and looked away. "The pixies say your time is up."

The peroxide blonde vamp turned back to Buffy. "See? Even the psychotic one gets how real this is. _I. Fell._ For you."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Then pick yourself up, get a band-aid, and get out of my _life_!"

He grit his teeth, and practically shook in frustration. "You need proof? Fine. Proof it is." He reached onto the surface of the shrine, and picked up one of the stakes that was sitting there. "I'm going to kill Drusilla for you." He placed the point of the stake right over her heart.

"Ow!"

Buffy merely stared at him. "This is supposed to prove what, again?"

Spike blinked, looked at the stake, Dru, the stake, and back to Buffy. "What d'you mean, _what?_ This is _Dru_. Dru! She saved me from a life of mediocrity." He touched her face with his non-stake hand, and she smiled. "We cut a swath through Europe together, until the blood ran thick through the streets and our names were whispered in bedtime tales to scare the piss out of all the little kiddies. We took on China and created our own brand of revolution, and found a whole new world in the States. Hundred years, love. Hundred years of power and perseverance and pleasure. I was so lucky to have such a raven one." She leaned into his touch. "But for you, ashes to ashes." He pushed harder.

"Eep!" Dru began to look worried as a small trickle of blood emerged at the point of the stake.

Buffy, on the other hand, looked bored. "Get it over with, already, if you're gonna do it. It does nothing but prove what an evil deviant you really are."

Spike threw the stake on the ground and tugged at the hair on his head as he stomped in a small circle. Buffy got a small amount of pleasure at the fact that she might actually be driving _him_ insane. "There's got to be something in that black hole of a heart that you have." He gestured wildly. "_Something_."

"Where she's involved? Not at all. She's just as big a deviant as you are. See, she even agrees," Buffy pointed out, gesturing to the best of her ability to Dru's nodding.

"Fine, then. If you won't give me anything, I'll let _her_ go. She can finish you off for a change."

Dru smiled, and Buffy felt a slight chill in her gut. "Oh, yes. I like this very, very much. The dice work so much better. The spinner always sticks."

Buffy pushed down the ice ball and whispered, "You might as well let her go and get it over with, because you missed your one chance you had – while I was unconscious."

Spike's normally pale face managed to turn several interesting colors before he growled. "Argh! What the _bleeding_ hell is wrong with you _bloody _women?! What the hell does it take? Why do you bitches insist on torturing me?"

It was Buffy's turn to smile. "Which question do you want me to answer first?"

"You know, Spike. It could be that your approach is entirely wrong. You ever think of that?" a new voice from the shadows asked.

All three turned their heads. Dru cocked her head, puzzled, but Spike and Buffy showed no real reaction as Max sauntered out of a corner of the cave. Her eyes lazily passed over the Buffy shrine, paused briefly on Buffy's chains, and then continued around the rest of the room, taking in the sight. Buffy was briefly taken aback as Max walked and stood next to Drusilla, and the two women regarded each other. There was something about the two of them, the same height, the shape of the jaw, perhaps, the color and weight of the hair…even though their skin and eye colors were completely different, there was something slightly more than a passing resemblance between the two. But she blinked, and the resemblance was gone.

"You're new," Drusilla commented, looking Max up and down.

Max rolled her eyes. "You have no idea." She glanced back to Buffy. "How ya doin'?"

Buffy shrugged her shoulders to the best of her ability, and wiggled her fingers slightly, trying to bring some blood back into them to alleviate the numbness. "Hangin' in there." She wondered how long Max had been around. She oddly looked…well, she looked better than she had at dinner. But even she knew a calm Max could have disastrous consequences.

"Purr," Drusilla…purred.

Max frowned.

Spike's eyebrows knit together, and he shook his head a minute. "Wait just a sec, what do you mean my approach is wrong? What is wrong with my approach?"

Max lifted a slim shoulder. "You have none."

"Meow," Drusilla added.

"God, would you stop that?" Buffy was losing her patience.

Max, on the other hand, began looking slightly disturbed by the woman, like her hackles were raised.

"What do you mean I've got no approach? I have an approach. Practically ripped at my bloody heart, and tossed it at her feet. What do I get? A laugh track." He pointed at Dru. "That one there's not much help, either. She's the one who got me into this mess in the first place." One slim eyebrow rose in reaction. "Yeah, you. If you hadn't run off with that chaos demon back when, I wouldn't have come back here, never would have gotten this lousy chip in my head, and never would have fallen in love with her," he pointed first at Buffy, and then quickly pointed at Max. "_You._ Stay out of this."

Max raised her hands. "Just because I'm here doesn't mean I gotta get involved."

"You _are_ involved," Drusilla whispered. "Just by being alive, you're involved."

Buffy watched in amazement as Max paled and then quickly gripped Dru around the throat, squeezing hard. "Stay out of my head," she growled.

"Ow," Dru gurgled again. Max gave her an extra squeeze before letting her go. "I'm not in your head, kitten. There's nobody in your head. Not even you." Dru's eyes drifted to Buffy. "But you are in hers."

"Oh, shit," Buffy whispered. She'd forgotten that while Dru _was_ a little psycho, she was also a little psychic. Most of Max's life had been lived in the future. Plus, the dreams she'd had before…

Dru's eyes glazed over slightly, as she seemed to listen to some inner voice. "The Chimera and the Slayer shall meet…and fight." She eyed the two. "I think I'd like to see that one. Ties that bind are only broken by death, you know." She turned her attention back to Max. "You should know best, kitty. Rather cold, isn't it? Snip, snap, step on a crack. Not a back that was broken." She stretched her neck. "Not twelve anymore, is it? The numbers drip, drip, drop." She grinned. "You were awfully young for your first, weren't you? And all without a bit of demon. I think I'll like to meet you someday."

Max felt sick.

"Leave her alone," Spike admonished. "It's not her fault she walked into this mess."

"Oh, but it is," the vampire corrected. "It's all her fault. Not the witch. Not the eyes. The chimera only ever has herself to blame, even if she is a pretty little kitty."

Spike clapped his hands, drawing attention. "_You_ leave Max alone. She's got enough trouble without you stirring up more." He pointed at Max. "Again, _you_ stay out of this." Max shrugged and turned away, moving off to the side, bumping Spike slightly in the process. Spike turned his attention back to Buffy. "This is just between _you_ and _me_, in spite of our little audience. Now why don't you ju—ow!"

Max turned back, and suddenly had an amused look on her face. Spike turned, and Buffy could see that there was an arrow projecting from high on his back.

"What about me, Spikey?" Harmony asked, wielding a crossbow. She didn't seem quite so dim at the moment. "The _actual_ girlfriend."

He reached behind and yanked out the arrow. "Bloody hell," he muttered.

"Who's this?" Max asked Buffy, carefully sidling closer.

"Watch your step," Drusilla snapped out, as she began to struggle with her bonds.

"Harmony," Buffy replied. "Spike's current…whatever."

"Actually, I'm ready for you to be my whatever, if you would just cooperate for one sec," Spike nearly pleaded.

"Cooperate with this!" Harmony shrieked, hitting Spike over the head with the crossbow.

"Good swing," both Max and Drusilla said at the same time, looking at each other in surprise.

"I gave you the best…bunches of months in my life!" She clobbered him a second time, and was about to go for a third when Spike reached up and grabbed the other end.

"Max, help," Buffy gasped as she watched Drusilla get one of her slim arms free.

Max quickly went to Buffy's side and swiftly examined the shackles around her wrists. "Hold still," Max growled, as she produced a slim piece of metal seemingly from nowhere and went to work. At Buffy's surprised look, since Max didn't have her beloved jacket with her, Max commented, "Spike's. He should watch his pockets."

Buffy couldn't help but snort. She quickly sobered and whispered, "Max, about dinner…"

"Never mind," Max mumbled as she worked on the lock.

Harmony and Spike's tussle continued to the floor, where they were now rolling around in a grotesque sex-like parody. They smashed into the base of the Buffy shrine, and just as quickly rolled away. Nobody noticed the candle that fell over.

Just as Max freed Buffy's right arm, Drusilla managed to undo the rest of the rope binding her to the pillar. Her face changed, and she licked her fangs as she reached for Max's shoulder.

Max let go of the shackle and turned quickly, giving Drusilla a quick short-armed jab to the face.

The flickering flame caught on the edge of one of the drawings. It ignited quickly, and smoke began to roll out.

Spike grabbed a good handful of Harmony's hair and yanked. "Ow! Watch the hair, Spikey! I just had it done." She attempted to knee him in the groin, but caught him in the stomach instead.

"Of all the times I'm the one left out of the fight…" Buffy murmured, as she reached for the dangling shackle that Max had abandoned and the lockpick left in the lock. It had unfortunately rotated and she could just barely reach it with her fingertips. She made one grab, and missed.

"Bad kitty," Dru snarled, holding her hands up in a reflection of Max's fighting stance.

"Bring it on, bitch," Max snarled back, spoiling for a fight, deftly dodging Dru's swing. She turned sharply and clipped the vampire in the back with an elbow. "Do you know how old that is?" Max complained, as she took a slight kick to the stomach and gave another swift punch to the nose. This time she heard a satisfying crack, and punctuated it by saying, "My name is _Max_." She held her head as the oddest sense of déjà vu overcame her, making her slightly dizzy.

Dru put her fingers to her bloody nose and licked where the blood had run down to her lips. "My bad. Icks-nay on the itty-kay." She kicked again, hard, while Max was distracted, and Max went flying back against a cave wall.

Buffy's eyes widened as she noticed the flame on the shrine quickly spread to other objects. The cave began to quickly fill with a grey, acrid smoke. _Shit,_ she thought, as she made another grab for the lock-pick, and this time reached it. She quickly jammed it in the lock on her left wrist, and desperately tried to recreate the movements Max had made with the other one. _I'm the only person in this entire mess that needs to breathe._ She twisted the piece of metal desperately, and was completely surprised when it gave – slightly. She began coughing on the thin air as the shackle jammed. She scraped the sides of her wrist and hand painfully along the sharp edges as she pulled her hand out.

Buffy glanced around the cave and realized that she couldn't see a single person. She could hear Harmony and Spike clearly. She was giving him some long speech about kissing her ass. Spike, oddly, was giving about the exact same speech. Max and Dru, however, were both silent.

At least until Dru began to taunt Max. "I know who you really are. Bits of metal cobwebs snaking through your brain. They may camouflage the darkness, but do you think any of them have _any _idea?"

Buffy tried her best to breathe shallowly through the top portion of her shirt. She was fairly certain she knew her position relative to the ladder out. She just had absolutely no clue where in the cave Max might be.

"What will they think when they find out who you _really_ are, what you've done? No chip could ever stop you. I tried to confess my sins once, and it led me to be who I am today. Do you even think confessing yours negate who you were? If so, you are a fool." Drusilla's voice was calm, even. Calculating.

Max was utterly silent. A chill went up Buffy's spine as she realized that she could see the movement of Drusilla, looking like the predator she was. Spike and Harmony were now working together to try to put out the shrine fire, which had now turned into an inferno. Buffy began coughing as the smoke invaded her lungs. _Ten minutes, she said. How long has it been already? Five? More?_ She felt around, and found a wall.

"You don't have any idea what it even means to _be_ the Chimera," Dru scoffed, circling, sensing her prey circling her, as well. "You think it's just some pathetic prophecy? You have no clue, little girl. Your tears will never fall until you've gone to hell and back. Your life ended when you left, and it will end here just as swiftly. Angels fall and the ravens circle. Your destiny is determined and you can't change a bit. Ashes, ashes. All around you will tumble, tumble to the ground, but only one will rise. That will not even be enough to refill the empty cup. You will destroy_ all_ you touch. All. Fall. Down."

Max's voice seeped out darkly from the smoke. "Then I'll start with you."

Buffy put one hand on the ladder. "Max," she shouted sharply, coughing violently at the inrush of smoke. "She's not worth it," she gasped softly, knowing Max would still be able to pick up her voice – if she was listening. She got her answer when she felt a hand on her arm, and looked into Max's dark eyes. Max gestured up, and they both quickly ascended. Both simultaneously gasped the fresh air of the crypt as they dashed outside. They moved away from the crypt door a ways before Buffy bent at the waste and held her knees. She was oddly pleased that even Max seemed to be taking a few harsh gulping breaths.

Buffy rolled her eyes at herself. _Geez, get over it will ya?_ "Max, you okay?"

Max nodded, "I guess."

They began to slowly walk towards the edge of the graveyard, Buffy glancing back occasionally, Max always looking straight ahead. Buffy was about to break the silence, even though she felt talking would have been rough on her poor, abused lungs, when Max cut in. "They're vampires, all of them. I get that Spike is basically harmless now, with the exception of tonight's little stunt. But the others? They've killed how many between them? Hundreds? Thousands?"

Buffy stopped and put a hand on Max's arm. She'd heard Dru's words as clearly as Max had. While her past dreams of Max's life really were no more than a beginning to a story she really hoped she wouldn't be treated to another chapter of, she was still able to intuit some of the darker aspects of this woman. They were the same as hers – fears about what destiny did to a person. "Them? Yeah, and they probably will again. But this isn't the time for that fight. Dru's wrong. Destiny _can_ be changed. But only if you try to change it." Max's eyes dropped towards the ground, and they continued their walk.

"You do know that's the last time I'm saving your ass, right?"

Buffy grinned. "Here I thought I was saving yours from burning."

As they reached the edge of the graveyard, Buffy noticed a convertible with a strange man inside and stopped. Max kept walking towards it. "Max?"

She turned, her eyes not quite meeting Buffy's. "It's Squid. We're getting out of here."

Buffy paled, knowing everybody's worries about Max. "Where are you going? Does Logan know you're leaving?"

Max didn't reply, just agilely hopped over the edge of the door.

"When are you coming back?!" Buffy shouted as they drove away. She stopped and sighed. She'd thought Logan would be able to keep Max in Sunnydale. Even he didn't seem to be enough anymore.

As the dust kicked up from the car peeling away, Buffy heard a commotion behind her. She turned to see Spike and Drusilla coming out of the crypt, a small amount of smoke following them, and heading in her direction. Spike seemed…pissed, where Drusilla instead looked despondent. Drusilla called to her, "He can never be what he was again, you know? You've pushed your fingers into his brain and twisted them around. The pink spots have all gone to grey, and he's no longer even one of us." She turned to Spike, and laid a gentle hand on his cheek. "Poor Spike, so lost." She then walked away and disappeared into the shadows, saying as she left, "Ties that bind, Slayer. Don't forget where it is that fools rush in."

Spike stopped and held his hands out to his sides, almost a plea. In Buffy's eyes, he _did_ look lost, like a small child experiencing grief for the first time. Her heart nearly went out to him. Instead, she turned and began a fast pace back to her house.

"Buffy!" he called behind her. "Slayer! Wait!"

She kept walking until she was at her front door, and then turned to him. "I want you out. I want you out of this town; I want you off this planet! You don't come near me, my friends, or my family again ever! Understand?"

His face transformed from loss to anger. "No. It's not that easy. I _refuse_ to accept that it's that easy, even for you, love. Face it. I'm in your life forever. You can't just shut me out."

Buffy yanked open her front door and stepped over the threshold. Spike tried to follow her and was stopped, just on the edge. He looked around at the doorframe, and then gently put his hands in front of him, trying to push. An invisible force pushed back. His broken heart sank, as he felt something from the house…and her… that he had not felt in a long time. Rejection. The sanctuary of a living human's home was now in force once more, and he would never be able to again enter unless invited by one of the inhabitants. One of the many curses of being a vampire.

"Buffy…please."

As Buffy slowly shut the door, he saw Willow in the background looking concerned, and knew who it was that had reinstated that dreaded curse.

Buffy turned and leaned back heavily against the door, breathing at once both a sigh of relief and of faint regret. She looked up, and saw her mother, sitting on the stairs, knowing. She rushed to her embrace. Her mom gave her a kiss and held on tightly. "It's for the best." Buffy nodded in reply and heard a faint hum. She pulled away, as she noticed Logan entering the front hallway.

He looked towards the door. "Max?" he asked. As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he knew. Instead of waiting for a reply, he looked forlornly at her jacket hanging over the stair banister that she had left in her earlier haste to escape, and then simply turned, and left the room.

* * *

_Coming January 17, 2007 (a very important day) – March 29, 2001_


	4. Saturday March 31, 2001

_A/N: Sorry about the delay, folks. I got a little distracted by life. On the plus side, I did pass the last of my blood tests. Yay! Here's the last (short) part to this chapter. Fanfiction dot net had a little blip with the announcement of the last section, so you might want to go back one and check to make sure you read it. I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

_Saturday March 31, 2001_

It was just another morning, like so many other mornings. Yet one sullen face was missing from them. It was odd; it took less than two months for their small group to become irrevocably altered forever. Actually, it took less time than that. It took a few days. One moment. A future lifetime.

Joyce couldn't understand how Logan managed to be so calm when Max was not heard from for several days. When she inquired – nervously – he just shrugged. "She'll be back," was always his reply. She wondered how he could have so much faith when so much had been torn apart between he and the only person he really had in this world.

Buffy and Dawn slugged into the kitchen simultaneously. Both dressed, but still rather bleary-eyed for a Saturday morning. "Morning, Mom," Buffy said, giving her mother a quick peck on the cheek as she meandered over towards the refrigerator. Dawn grunted something that Joyce and Logan both assumed was a greeting before drowsily elbowing Buffy out of her way. Buffy elbowed Dawn back, a little harder than intended. Dawn, not entirely steady to begin with, lost her footing, and stumbled into Logan, who was unable to quite catch his glasses before they plopped into his cereal. Dawn and Buffy, who were both prepared to start a heck of an argument, instead stopped, and looked rather guiltily at each other.

"Ummm," Dawn began, now wide-awake.

"It was an accident," Buffy quickly interjected.

Dawn rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. She cocked her head, and asked, "Do you hear that?"

The other three occupants of the kitchen listened, carefully. They heard a soft steady rumble.. "Thunder?" Joyce questioned, moving to the kitchen window. It was sunny outside, and cloudless.

The rumble increased quickly, and was punctuated with louder beats.

A slow smile spread across Logan's face. "That's not thunder." He gripped his wheels hard to first steady himself, and pushed off quickly towards the front door, with the others close behind. He pulled open the front door…

…and there she was. Almost like she had never been gone.

She was sitting astride a motorcycle, a Ninja that looked quite similar to the one she'd had back in Seattle. His keen eye could have picked out slight differences, but he was intent on only noticing her as she revved the bike loudly.

"Miss me?" Max asked cheekily.

Joyce looked a little green as she watched Max on the motorcycle, looking as comfortable as if she'd been born on one. She nearly commented on it, but then snapped her mouth shut and did her best to look disapproving instead. "_Miss_ you? We were worried sick about you. For all we knew you could have been—"

"Dead in a ditch somewhere," Buffy and Dawn finished simultaneously. They giggled, as their mother rolled her eyes self-deprecatingly.

Max laughed, looking at Logan.

The corners of his mouth tilted upward. "So you've got your bike back."

She shrugged, running her hand over the body. "It's not mine," she said softly. "Got it in LA. Squid knew a few people and..." She looked up, met Logan's eyes and smiled, at first almost shyly, but eventually the smile bloomed to the brilliance that nobody had seen for days. "It's not mine," Max repeated, "but it will be."

Logan looked back, wondering. He couldn't place the feeling, but at that moment, his world seemed to tilt, and upright itself. But instead of being the same world, something had changed. He glanced toward the sky, but it was the same blue it had always been. Yet something was different. He turned his gaze again towards Max, who was now pointing parts of the motorcycle out to an attentive Dawn, much to the chagrin of her mother. He couldn't pull his eyes from her, as though if he looked away again, she would disappear. He could never let her go.

Even if the world had, somehow, totally changed in a moment.

* * *

_Next up: Chapter 10 – Inferno_

_A/N: This chapter was not-so-loosely based on the Buffy episode "Crush." I lovingly stole some lines from Joss Wedon, and since I'm not making any money off this, hopefully he won't mind too much. If you want clues as to which lines were his and which were mine, google the Buffy episode, or drop me a line and I'll be happy to help sort out the insanity. The next chapter will be a while, folks. Hopefully not as long as this one took. My job training is relatively intensive, and my brain is fried by the time I get home. Then after I finish writing, it becomes a task not to fry my poor overworked beta's brain (Thanks again, Alaidh!)_

_All my thanks for reading and reviewing!_


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